


way out

by deadboy



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadboy/pseuds/deadboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It can be surprising who you find on Omegle on lonely winter evenings at 8pm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	way out

Kenny got a text from Kyle maybe an hour ago and he’s just now decided he’s not replying. It’s not Kyle’s fault that he’s not stuck in South Park, that he's going places and learning new things and meeting cool interesting people who aren’t uneducated rednecks and who have vocabulary ranges that are colourful for reasons not related to cursing. For the most part Kyle’s stayed true to his promise to Kenny that he wouldn’t let them lose touch just because they’re a few states apart now and Kenny can be nothing but grateful for that, because Kyle is a guy in a million and the first person you would pick to have as a friend, while he’s always been a little too quiet and rough around the edges. Still, a text telling Kenny about the surprising warmth of Rhode Island despite it being almost December isn’t helpful when he's under thin bedcovers in a room with a broken window, wearing two t-shirts and three pairs of socks and pyjama pants, bored out of his mind.

Kenny sighs, clicks on a bookmark in his browser, doesn’t bother to turn the volume down as a woman with Botox-pumped lips rides and bucks on the armrest of her couch, boobs flapping violently, moaning obscenely at the sensation of probably absolutely nothing. It looks ridiculous and uncomfortable and pretty embarrassing, Kenny notices, as he wonders whether all the porn he watches usually looks like that. He sighs again, clicks away to somewhere else. Before his cam blinks into consciousness, Kenny shuffles up, tries to flatten his toothbrush hair. His skin doesn't get much less translucent when the webcam adjusts to the light and Kenny misses the pink tint to his skin that felt embarrassingly lobstery in the summer. His eyes are thin and dark so he rubs them, blinks rapidly, twists round without really moving so that the yellowy glow of his light is cast on his better, softer side.

In the next minute, Kenny is faced with upwards of fifteen grainy, inadequate dicks and he considers more strongly than he has before why it is that he doesn't just shove his own member onto the screens of lonely horndog strangers. Maybe it's because, despite the alcohol and the arguments and the meth labs and the occasional bouts of violence, he was raised properly. He likes to tell himself that, anyway, and he'll remember it for the next time his mom needs to hear it too. 

He disconnects instantly every time, pretty much, unless there’s a particularly nice dick or pair of tits or sometimes even a pretty face. He waits a couple seconds sometimes, just to see if anyone can take their hands off of themselves long enough to compliment his face but he gets bored waiting. There’s one guy he gets talking to for a while, almost thirty, with dark eyes and a lot of hair, who he only stops for because he gruffly mumbles out, “Hey, Twinkie”, at his own laptop and Kenny thought he meant it like a quirky pet name. By the time he realised, he’d already committed to the guy by laughing a wide smile. The guy kept on about his blowjob lips for a while, and Kenny teased him by keep smiling at things that were corny and not interesting, and he got his dick out for him but then the guy went from calling him his Twinkie to his Piss Panther pretty quick and Kenny disconnected without readjusting his cam.

There are a few of mom-aged women he encounters who try to entice him by showing off their lips straight away, right up close to the camera, pulling out their boobs and dragging their nipples towards their screens, kind of like they’re milking themselves as they do but they just look like the porn lady who didn’t seem very real so Kenny doesn’t get how that’s supposed to be hot. Anyway, after a couple of runs of rehearsed moans and fake-husky purrs over his “big boy cock”, it turns out they don’t care about what he’s got, they just want him to lavish them with words to make them feel young and wanted and his energy’s not in it and Karen’s just down the hall and the disconnect button is too big and close and tempting.

When the next connection rolls through, he just stares at the stranger’s cam feed a little curiously, not realising he was still gripping himself until the tube of his fingers loosens slightly. It’s a guy, he realises not-immediately, with thick thighs stretching at pale purple underpants, patterned with what look like clouds and rainbows and stars. Kenny wonders where the hell adult men would have to look to find those. He sees smallish hands hover in front of the cam for a moment and he doesn’t register the thin black text on the blank white canvas beside the small webcam boxes until the hands wave at him hesitantly.

 **Stranger:** Why howdy, sexy mister. :) I’m Leo.

Kenny’s heart stops for a long, _long_ time and he just hopes that his family forget about him forever until he’s a skeleton and not a corpse with his cock out and a limp hand hovering near it. He snaps his pyjama pants back up, winds the cam back up onto his face. It’s an awful angle.

“Uh…Butters?” Kenny asks slowly, awkwardly, already knowing that it is but having no idea what else he could possibly say right now. Butters hasn’t moved his own camera up yet, Kenny notices when he checks, but there seems to be more room in the colourful trunk area than there was before. Kenny gives a short, gusty chuckle at that. Me too, Butters, he thinks. (Although, kind of not quite.)

“H-hey there, Kenny!”

Kenny would shake his head if Butters couldn’t see - he almost does anyway – because the kid sounds like they just happened across each other in the street on a weekend or something, not groping their own dicks whilst feasting their eyes on the sorry sight of each other’s. Last time he saw Butters was at Cartman’s grand going-to-college party. He can’t remember that much of it, because Stan had just left a few days ago for San Diego and Kyle was busy packing and he couldn’t imagine any day where he didn’t get a stupid scheme pitched to him by text from Cartman. He does remember that Butters’ parents were out of town so the kid drank three red cups of champagne and passed out half-naked on the bouncy castle. Someone took him home at some point, Kenny wandered home about 3am and Butters is somewhere in California now, studying something like events planning or business or maybe catering.

“So, um. Does everybody call you Leo now?” Kenny asks, because it kind of suits Butters in the way it suits a toddler but not in the way it suits a football scholarship college student. He supposes that if you’re called Butters, though, you don’t really think about much except not being called Butters.

“Mostly! The professors call me Leopold, or Stotch, and I introduced myself to one guy as Butters but then he forgot so I’m Leo to him too.”

The kid still hasn’t moved his goddamn camera up to his face and as Kenny’s eyes linger a little – completely innocently – on the bare legs and stretchy boxer shorts he notices Butters’ hand resting limply in his lap, his fingers twitching a little, ghosting over his cock. Kenny’s not sure if that’s an absent-minded thing, or something he’s doing to prepare himself for in a moment when he disconnects with Kenny, or if he wants to do this thing _with Kenny_.

“Uh, nice,” Kenny nods, overcompensating with the motion a little as he recognises the heavying pause following Butters’ words. “So you’re enjoying college then? Making friends and getting plenty drunk and stuff?”

Jesus Christ, he sounds like a middle-aged uncle.

“Yeah, I haven’t had any alcohol – except a couple of root beers, we get warned about underage drinking and all. We could ‘forfeit our place at the college if we endanger its reputation in any way’. But everyone I’ve met is mostly nice, I don’t always hang out with the same people, I just kinda…unwind in my room. Like now, you know?”

Kenny gets a sad wave skitter through his chest at this, because Butters is also one of the first people you’d pick as a friend, if you’re going on kindness and patience and obedience alone. He knows that even Cartman has a new crowd of friends at his internship, though he still can’t quite imagine Cartman having a relationship of any kind with people he didn’t bond with at a naively young age over fart jokes and cartoons and toys. Kenny tries not to consider that maybe he’s just a bit bitter over the whole thing because he can’t think of anything to say to anyone he works with and he’s not half as sociopathic as Cartman or nerdy as Kyle or moody as Stan. He hates to think of Butters being like that too, the same as him.

“Oh, oh, and how’s everything down in ol’ South Park?” Butters chirps excitedly. Whenever Kenny talks to Stan or Kyle or Craig or someone else, they ask about South Park in the way you ask family members about a boring cousin. They don’t really want to know, they don’t care now they’re not there but they kind of have to ask anyway. Kenny in turn hates being asked, because they always ask about him after they’ve talked for fifteen solid minutes about their new friends and the cool thing their college town has and all the job prospects they have even now after just two months at college. The only thing he ever has to respond with is how nice everyone at his job at Taco Bell is or that his sister’s doing really well at school. It makes him feel like a fly stuck in a really old out-of-date tube of ointment.

His eyes catch Butters’ thighs again and has no idea how they got so thick or if even they’re really that thick, and he wonders if they’re warm and soft and tender, but he just kinda really wants them clamped anywhere around his body right now. Butters’ tentative fingers continue to skim and Kenny’s own hand jumps back inside his pants. It’s now he also notices the almost-silence of the house, just its routine humming, either an amalgamation of all their running appliances or just the life force of the wood and bricks themselves.

He can feel everything.

Fuck it.

“So, Butters – Leo…” His new name - his real name, Kenny guesses - sounds a lot like a question. “You haven’t moved your camera up yet.”

“Uh, right, Kenny, I sure haven’t…”

Butters’ words are the same, his manner the same, his voice pretty much unchanged from the days before high school, even, but everything is also so different. The words are from Butters’ very own old-fashioned dialect but he says them like an adult, as an adult, in a less perpetually excited and willing voice. He seems hesitant, guarded, cautious. It’s like Butters is playing himself, rather than being himself, but Kenny’s not sure if he’s playing Leo or Butters. Kenny would stop, right there, at the slight sense of uncertainty but Butters’ fingers glide together just then, becoming one thick digit, fluidly lapping between his legs.

“Should, um. Should I move mine down again too, so they’re the same?”

“Ohh, you sure should, Kenny,” Butters breathes and it’s so fucking sexy Kenny can’t associate it with Butters.

“Yeah, fuck, fuck, okay,” Kenny replies hurriedly, mimicking Butters’ breathlessness as he jerks the camera back down on its pivot. He lifts his hips to get his pants and underwear down, his laptop seesawing on his thighs as he manoeuvres. He didn’t get that much softer than a semi the whole time they were talking, fucking Butters and his hand and his tiny cartoon underwear, but now he is so hard and burning in his bones with it. When Kenny’s still again, laptop repositioned beside him, he looks back to Butters’ cam box in the chat, mouth scrabbling to half-form an order but Butters has already shucked his pretty boxers – Kenny can still see them in the background - and it’s like there’s a vice around his dick.

Butters isn’t long, but he’s very thick, and Kenny can see the other boy’s fingers having to squeeze just a little – but enough to drive him mad, Kenny bets – so that his finger and thumb touch to make a perfect circle. Butters does some slow strokes with just the ring of his thumb and forefinger and Kenny wants that thing in his mouth so bad. He stuffs his first two fingers in his mouth, wetting them clumsily with his tongue as he watches and gives long, swift strokes with his own curled fingers.

“Fuck, Butters,” he moans around his fingers, speeding up a little. He shifts back, his head lower on his pillow, hitching his knees back and spreading his legs.

“Would you let me suck your dick?” he whispers as Butters gathers speed. “Fuck, I’d suck your dick so hard.”

“Uh-huh,” Butters moans as he lays back, switching arms so that he’s pulling and stretching his smooth dick with the hand closest to the computer and Kenny, using the other to bounce his balls with little flicks of his fingers. Kenny groans loudly and _long._ (His family will get it, he reasons somewhere in the back of his mind. He puts up with all their shit so it’s the least they can do and if he’s honest he doesn’t care because he just _needs this_ so bad _._ ) He hasn’t felt as close to anyone since everyone left as he does right now, fucking up into his closed fingers whilst he watches Butters start doing the same in another state, his supple ass moulding with the mattress as he pumps back down.

“Shit,” Kenny breathes, skating his fingers over the head and spreading stubborn pre-come all over the rest of himself. “Shit, Leo, get on your hands and knees, show- show me your ass while you pull yourself off.”

Kenny hasn’t talked to anyone this much in one go in months, both in quantity and in the intimacy of the content. It’s exhilarating, and he’s not sure if that just because it’s been so long or because it’s like this when you’re close with anyone or, weirdly, because it’s Butters. He squeezes his eyes tight shut as his dick seems to constrict and pulse. He wants and needs so badly to come, through his whole body, everywhere, with someone else, but he also never wants this to end.

As Butters continues to work on himself, hard and fast and completely indulgent, his ass bobs into Kenny’s screen so hard that Kenny thinks - hopes, really - that it will just emerge through the glass into his face. Kenny focusses all of himself that is controllable and conscious on the kid in front of him and growing little gasps and moans materialise from Butters’ full, parted lips.

“You have such a perfect ass,” Kenny strains, voice creaking as he pushes the words out of his chest and up his throat. “I would suck your dick so hard, and I’d eat your ass, all of it, and – _shit_ \- if you wanted I’d fuck your ass too, that’s if you wanted.”

Butters emits a quivering moan, stops leaning on his one elbow and tips further forwards, keeping himself upright by his forehead digging into the mattress. His tongue slides over two fingers and he traces them over his entrance, not dipping them in, but brushing and teasing. Kenny whimpers weakly, holding himself and his sheets tight and racing towards the end. His teeth are plunged deep into the underside of his lower lip and he doesn’t have a voice left to use but he’s intent on Butters’ hands, torn between which to focus on, until Butters starts bucking forcefully, balls slapping into his pink cock, and he comes hard, across the mattress, onto the floor a little, everywhere, indiscriminately.

Kenny can’t muster anything but gruff grunts as he gets closer, watching Butters’ hand at his ass continue to flutter gently, until he feels himself rip and unfold from the centre of his stomach as his voice floods back, allowing him to gasp into the crisp air of his bedroom, arching into his hand as he rides his orgasm out, feeling like he can’t ever stop.

Kenny’s not sure what to do then, in the glow of white from his laptop screen and basking in the warmth of his orgasm. He’s only done this before a couple of times but with strangers it’s easy to disconnect and forget about them after an awkward ‘thank you’ and shuffling out of view. He can’t do that with Butters, because Butters is sweet and his friend and seems (or used to seem) pretty fragile and sensitive. Kenny wishes Butters would say something because he did most of the talking, which still wasn’t that much, and his chest is tight from not getting a reaction, no feedback, of sorts.

Butters has his bright underwear back on, plus a My Little Pony t-shirt for luck. He’s kneeling in front of his computer, but not comfortably, in a raised, hovering kind of position. Kenny can only see the bottom half of his face – mainly his chin, because his mouth keeps shifting in and out of view.

“See Kenny, it’s been real good catching up with you and all, I just…it’s just there’s all this college work, you know? I have to get it done or my tutor will be mad _and_ I’ll get grounded and that’s no good in college, I need to be able to leave my dorm to eat! I’ll, um. I’ll e-mail you, Kenny. Or text. Bye…”

Kenny has chance to flick a wave at Butters before he crackles out of view. He closes his laptop, slides it somewhere under his bed and decides tonight he’ll sleep with the light on. He curls into himself, for warmth, and tucks the covers under every edge of himself for extra. Later, restless and not sure of how much time has passed, he sighs and tosses over a little, gropes around the floor blindly with his stiff hand for a while until he locates his phone. He decides he’ll reply to Kyle now. It’s the least he can do, really: say he tried to keep up the contact with future President Broflovski, even if Kenny himself is the world’s biggest bore nowadays and he’s probably aggravating Kyle more by texting than he is helping him or brightening up his day or something. He’s not too bothered by that thought, though. It’s human contact, at least.  
  
 _u lucky asshole broflovski. its fuckin freeze-ur-balls-off season here as usual, gdm south park. still, i hear its p cold in cali rn too._


End file.
